


Misguided Kingdom

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: AU, Anarchy, Fabled Lands, MKing, Misguided Kingdom, Multi, Slavery, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-27 04:23:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/974288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was something different.<br/>That shouldn't have bothered you as much as it did, since you were different and your friends were different but this THING was entirely new. You refused to acknowledge it as troll because it was so mutilated and so fucked up that it made your heart cavity swell with indifference [pity], and you wanted to help it more than you've wanted to help anything else in the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Multi-chapter fic that will get better with time. also posted on my tumblr.

Your name is- no.  
No fuck this, you are not going on some internal monologue about the mystical fucking wonders of your life. You are too damn busy with packing what little belongings you have into a bag- or rather, a stereotypical blanket wrapped around a stick. Were expecting a backpack, or a duffel bag? Fuck NO those are for middle class citizens. You are the last of the Vantas family, and you're as poor as they come without being fucking feral. Shoving the last of your four pairs of clothes into the ratty, thin bag, you finally tie the ends around a short stick- more of a handle than anything.   
Your bright red [traitorous, fucked up red] eyes dart towards the window. Through the boards and beyond your pathetic shack of a homestead lies lower Alternia- literally. Everyone here is dirt poor save for a few upperclassmen that decided to leave the Capitol in favour of rubbing their wealth in other's faces. Assholes.

With but one more grumble of distaste, you sling the makeshift bag over your shoulder and take one last look around the house- or room, you suppose. Everything is cluttered and messy and gross; you never really bothered cleaning up after Kankri left. The cot is still in one corner, being too big to carry, but the bedroll is strapped to your back with some new 'rope' you made [dammit you had to tear up the only curtains you had]. There's junk and more junk turning the dirt floor into an even worse place to walk one. Luckily though, you'll be out of here soon- or at least, you'll attempt to leave and be killed or some stupid shit.

Clutching a poorly drawn map, written in what appears to be leftover bits of charcoal, you made your way to the opening. It was supposed to be a door- then it was replaced by curtains, which [as previously mentioned], you ripped up to make rope.   
Oh joy.

The streets were as normal as could be. Children ran around, playing ball with what seemed to be either a rock or a dead possum. Ew. Some adults wandered about, occasionally grabbing some shit off the street or smacking an unruly child outside the head. There weren't a ton of people- mostly trolls but one or two cherubs even.   
The hemospectrum/caste system was abolished years ago- woopdedoo. It didn't change anything though, only that trolls were subjugated and the higher the caste the more value on the slave market. You're fine though- you have no value at all [or so you like to think], being a mutant. On the other hand, you're at a risk of being killed or being some pet for someone. At least you won't have to stay to find out.

Peeking at your map, you make your way south east. The mountain rage to the south cuts off almost all access to the continent of Nunadem, but you're determined to leave the country of Alternia and your own continent of Alladem behind. The origin of this was all thanks to your friend Kanaya, a daywalker from Secon'un. She had instilled in you the legends of a far-off country named Beforus, where many chose to live in fear of Alternia. With determination, you both agreed to meet south of the Tallpeak Mountains in the jungles of Nunadem. Dangerous tribes, animals, and plants were a bit of a problem, but that's not what you were worried about.

In fact, you're mainly worried about that group of teens in the alley to your right. It's nighttime, the usual waking hours for trolls, but in your community, nighttime crime is a frequency best not ignored. From the looks of it, your threat consists of two brownbloods, a yellow, and oh SHIT is that a teal?! Heart racing, you snap your head forwards, cursing your bright red blood and your size difficulties. If you were religious, you'd pray for your safety, but that's a load of bullshit and you know it. Instead, you keep walking, putting one foot in front of the other, the corner is only a little ways ahead, you're almost there and-

"Hey shrimp!"  
Fuck.  
You whip around, the usual frustration and anger bubbling in your treacherous gaze. If you were going down, you were going to give this lot a real fucking earful.

"Oh joy, I get the privilege of entertaining a bunch of nookstains that simply cannot bend down far enough to suck their own, miniscule, bulges."

A punch to the face told you to shut the fuck up. Within moments, a flurry of kicks and punches had you on the ground, hands clutching over your head, and knees pulled to your chest. Fuck, it hurt! Every shoe or fist was another bruise and you could feel the dull ache of every spot affected. It lasted minutes, hours, who the fuck even knows how long! Warmth trickled from your nose and- oh shit oh shit oh shit they could see it- blood was dripping sluggishly upon the ground. A frightened gasp came from one of them [the brown? yellow? everything was blurry, everything was one] and someone ran away. The others were even more enraged, and the everything intensified- how could they kick that much.

Then a yell and everyone was running and someone was laying their hands on you- what was happening? Who was that? A few well placed slaps snapped you out of your daze, and once more your gaze refocused.  
On a police officer.  
Well shit.

Within seconds you were running again, with the troll following at your heels. You darted between building, gliding over a food stand at some point. Dirt and gravel crunched and slammed under your rapidly moving feet, the recently obtained bruises and sores and cuts being aggravated from the quick movements, but fuck it, you were high on adrenaline and like hell were you being brought in your some stupid shit only to be sold off like some mutant pet. A few times, you feel the graze of fingers on your back, and you can't look back because if you do you'll slow down and if you slow down- fuck.

An ill-placed footing cause you to tumble to the ground. Your grey skin scrapped open and more of your hideous blood welled on the surface of your face. Shuddering, anticipation for the law-fufilling hands on your shoulders welled up.

Only for shock to wrack you when none came. Shakily, you raise yourself to your hands and knees and peer behind you. No one was there. Sometime during the chase, you had left the city and the officer behind. Ahead, and quite close, were the mountains. You must've been running for a solid half hour, blurred by adrenaline.  
Which, by now, was gone.

Collapsing, you felt dull pain throbbing through the entirety of your body. Your senses were sharp and every inch of your skin was yours once more, in all it's sore glory. A part of your mind urged you to find shelter, to get out of the random field you insane asshole, but that part was silenced by the endless chorus of 'fuck life'. 

After a few more moments [hours, but who cares], you gently heave yourself to your feet and stumble towards the tree line. To the east is the end of the Tallpeak mountain ridge, and you can sneak across the mountains there. Something nags in the back of your mind, something that hints at the possibility of more hardship to come, but you're too fucking determined.

Your name is KARKAT VANTAS and for once, you are not being CONTROLLED.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You weren't pale for this fucktard.  
> Absolutely not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I change POVs at a point in the story, since we now have two characters. It will most likely remain the same from now on.

Jungles were stupid.  
This is what you decided in the end. After recovering from the brutal escape and spending three days by the mountains, you have come to the conclusion that travelling is stupid. Furthermore, jungle are fucking assholes.   
Seriously, what are they doing, growing all over the place and not giving a fuck? Any other forest would at least have the mindshitting decency to leave room to walk but nooooo, jungles are too cool for that!  
If you trip on a vine one more time, you are going to personally chop down every fucking tree in this fucking jungle.

Clutching at one of your ribs, you move [not so silently] through the undergrowth. Gigantic trees loom overhead, blocking out the majority of the late evening sun. Daytime was the worst time of the day, in your opinion at least, but you had yet to find a better opportunity to start walking.  
Five days had passed since you entered the northern jungles of Nunadem- eight days since you escaped from the shitshow you called your life.  
Honestly, you weren't sure about how proud you were.

Punching back another overgrown vine-bush-leafy thing, you wish once more for a knife of some sort. Your blunt claws just knock back the undergrowth with the strength of a kitten. You pause in front of another tree- it shouldn't stand out to you persay, but it does. It isn't the rough bark or the broad leaves that stick to you, but rather, the splatter of deep purple splaying across the surface.  
You know it's blood- purple blood, with the stench of cold salt, which leads you to believe that whoever is bleeding is really, really cold blooded.  
And injured.  
What was it they said about injured animals?  
…  
Shit.

Travelling forwards was now a danger, though not as dangerous as trying to head back. Determination wavering in your reddened gaze, you finally end your inner monologue with the decision to move on.  
Oh, how you hate your decisions.

Within minutes, there's another splatter, and then a small puddle. Soon enough, the dried blood becomes wet, and you can hear something heaving and panting up ahead. Hesitantly, you begin to guide yourself to the source- this is absolutely stupid, but you need to know who it is, what it is, that's bleeding.  
Your curiosity should be ashamed.  
Crouching in the thick growth, you manage to sneak forwards without sounding like a culling drone trying to break down a tree. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, and moved again, closer to what sounded like mumbles and growls. There couldn't have been more than one- right? And with the amount of blood painting the jungle, you have slight confidence in your abilities.  
Still…  
Anything above an indigo was considered non-existent, even though that wasn't true. Myths of tribes and groups with trolls over twelve feet tall haunted the bedrooms of wrigglers. With a cuss under your breath, you remind yourself that purple blooded trolls- subjugglators- weren't real. The blood was probably an indigo, which wasn't great, but it wasn't purple.  
Purples died out long ago.  
Apparently this one didn't get the memo.

Breath hitching in your throat, you finally lay eyes on the troll whose blood led you to him. Alarmed, you freeze, keeping an eye on him but not moving. He was big- tall, maybe 6'5" to your 5'3". Each of his bones were prominent, clearly shown given that his shirt was basically ribbons, and his pants seemed to be makeshift shorts. He was curled on the ground, knees against his chest and hands curled in his hair- which was abhorrently messy. All around him was blood- blood, so much blood, dripping from deep wounds on his face, lash marks [some old, some fresh] on his back, and numerous other lacerations. Bruises and scrapes accompanied the sluggishly bleeding wounds- why wasn't he trying to stop the bleeding?! His claws, oh so sharp, were tearing at his scalp, and he just rocked back and forth, back and forth, muttering something at light speed under his breath. You couldn't see his eyes but you looked at him, shivering and muttering and rocking with the essence of madness, and your heart cavity swelled with pity.  
Wait, no. No it didn't. It was platonic pity, absolutely. Besides, who couldn't look at this idiot and not feel bad?   
Yeah.  
That's why.

Apparently on your list of 'ways-to-kill-Karkat', being slaughtered by a psychotic clown was close to number one. Actually, as you stood from your spot, you noted that there were legitimate paint stains that once might've been clown paint. Holy shit the bullshit metre was just overflowing with 'fuck you'.   
With slow, quiet steps, you began to weave your way into the dirt filled clearing. He didn't even flick an ear at the movement, resorting instead to making this goddamn pitiful whining noise. You reached out to touch his shoulder, to alert him to your presence.

And that's when he whipped around and tried to slash your chest open.

Luckily, his movements were jerky and desperate, and you managed to step back in time. Unluckily, you stumbled and fell flat on your ass. On one hand, you now had the troll's full attention- on the other hand, fuck, you had his full attention.

"MOTHER FUCKER BEST BE GETTING A MOVE ON."  
God he was so loud! You grimaced, and fought the urge to cover your ears. With the sudden movement, purple pants seemed to recoil, and he made another whine. You could see the pain that he hid, and fuck, he was pissed off.  
"else this fucker here'll be filling all the bitchtits whimsies."  
"THIS MOTHER FUCKER HERE'LL GET HIS WICKED MIRTH ON WITH ALL THE MOTHERFUCKING HARSHWHIP DIDDIES."  
"like a motherfucking bro in lay-low."  
"WITH ALL THE MOTHERFUCKING INTENTS OF-"  
"Sh."

[p.o.v change]  
Shock flooded the clown's face. This motherfucker dared to shush his ass? That was blasphemy of the highest level, quelling the motherfucking rage that flowed through the veins of a subjugglator. The air around him was weak with chucklevoodoos, those whimiscal voices and fears were quenched by the absolute pain that swarmed the clown troll's face. Snarling, he launched into another tirade.

"Y'ALL BEST FELL MOTHERFUCKING FEAR FOR PULLING A MOTHERFUCKING STUNT LIKE THAT YOU BITCH.'  
"ain't everyday you you die."  
"GUESS THAT MEANS IT'S MOTHERFUCKING TIME T'-"  
"Shoooosh."

Another pause. The fuck was nubby doing to him? A tentative hand placed itself on the purple blood's face, cupping the cheek gently. What the fuck what the fuck what the motherfuck was he doing with his grubby hands and his traitourous words? Motherfuck, what was he doing?!

"HONK."  
"Shooosh."  
"MOTHERfucking HONK honk HONK."  
"Shooosh."

Minutes, maybe hours, passed with the purple blood slowly tiring out, whether from the shooshes and the paps or the blood loss, Karkat wasn't sure. All he knew for sure was that the rage flooded from the clown in a final wave, and the troll slumped in defeat. Without skipping a beat, Karkat pulled the shirt off the other and tore it, taking the cleanest shreds and wrapping them around the worst of the wounds. A dull tooth worried on his bottom lip, thoughts of infection trickling through his mind. A quick glance up confirmed that it was already midnight- in a few hours the sun would rise and the two of them would need sleep. Karkat wrapped his arms around the silent clown, aiding in his ascent to his feet. Though it was better than the shouting and the whispering, he found the silence of the purple blood rather… disconcerting. Fortunately, his new companion was rather light, with bones sticking out in a manifestation of starvation. With some difficulty, the shorter troll managed to guide the new arrival to an outcropping of rocks, which was akin in a shallow cave. The purple blood was placed in the far corner, and Karkat ran off to grab some water from the small puddles gathering outside their borrowed shelter. A whine crawled out from the clown's mouth, and Karkat whipped his head around to make eye contact.

He was arguably more pathetic now. Any semblance of rage or strength was drained from the clown and now he was little more than a sack of bones, looking up at his bro with clouded purple eyes. A sigh slipped by Karkat's lips.

"What the fuck do you want me to do? I had all my shit stolen and like hell am I about to magic up any bandages."

Silence and a continued pouty look answered this statement.

"Alright, shit, just- tell me your name assclown."  
A raspy, wheezing sound popped into the silence this time, and within a few moments, Karkat realized that was the purpleblood's laugh. Frustration knitted his eyebrows together until the troll took note of the mood and cleared his scratchy throat.

"Name's Gamzee of the Makaras l'il red blooded bro."  
"Oh joy, nice to fucking meet you Mr. Gamzee, clown of the jungle and douchebag of the day. No, wait, that's Ampora. You come in close second though. I'm Karkat Vantas."  
"'s motherfucking miraculous title y'all got there."  
"No. Stop it. Stop butchering our language my god, just fucking drink some water."

Another freaky chuckle signalled defeat, and Gamzee took a few sips with shaking hands. Sharp red eyes taking in the skeletal troll, Karkat moved behind him, with a patch of cloth wetted by rainwater. Gamzee fucking growled, a low noise accompanied by his shoulder tensing up, but fearless Karkat kindly whapped him outside the head, which dwindled his snarl into another whimper. Steady hands dabbed at the wounds, getting as much off without reopening them. Skin was puffed up around the wounds, and once more the thought of infection zipped through Karkat's mind.

After doing the best he could on Gamzee's back, the mutant shifted so he was sitting in front of the Makara. Karkat held his companion's chin in his hands, gaze scrutinizing the gashed across the purple's face- had they been made a little higher, or lower, he'd have gone blind. Shuddering, Karkat began to clean off the troll's face, noting that Gamzee's eyes are planted on the ground, refusing to meet his gaze.  
"Hey bro, how come y'all been schooled in the mystery ways of motherfuckin' helping a hurt?"  
"You literally made no sense, you brain-dead imbecile. However, I'll make an educated guess and tell you that I used to treat my brother when he got his ass beaten up."  
"Y'all gotta brother?"  
"Had."  
"Oh."

Bitterness stung Karkat's throat, his mind flicking back to days with his equality-obsessed brother, which ended badly of course. How could anything end well with his luck? However, the troll before him seemed to be deep in thought, which was rather alarming.  
"Well, I'm surprised steam isn't coming out of your fucking ears, you're really thinking."  
"Mhm."  
"…How the fuck did you get so messed up?"  
A nervous silence cracked the conversation, and sent any legible thought into slivers.

"Okay, how about we start with your face ones."  
"Um, this motherfucker don't gotta answer that, right?"  
"No, 'this motherfucker' is going to fucking tell me."  
"Shit bro. I got these on accounts of my own motherfucking will, ain't a thing."

Even through the broken phrases, Karkat understood the meaning. Dropping his hands back on his legs, the troll hardened his gaze into a glare.  
"You stupid asshole."  
And when Gamzee flinched, Karkat simply lay himself out on his side of the outcropping, ignoring the saddened gaze of his companion who- with any luck- would be leaving soon. Being around him made Karkat ill, a swelling in his chest acting up around the clown.  
It wasn't pale affections, that was stupid and who the fuck fell into pale-at-first-sight? Therefore, it must've been platonic pity for the sad sucker.  
Yeah.  
That was definitely it.


End file.
